


delicious

by alwaysred



Series: starker prompts [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Chef!Tony, Delivery boy!Peter, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, tony knows it’s wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysred/pseuds/alwaysred
Summary: Tony Stark is a chef in a fancy restaurant, and Peter Parker is a blushing pizza delivery boy with pretty brown eyes and a high-pitched voice. If Tony Stark were a better man, he’d be able to resist.Tony Stark was not a better man.





	delicious

**Author's Note:**

> this is a short little prompt I filled on tumblr :) thought I’d post it on over here too while you guys wait for lovely to update  
> send me prompts or just say hey on tumblr @downeyfordick

It started late on a Friday night when Tony had suffered through a particularly draining day at work. There’d been a new addition to the kitchen staff, though Tony didn’t think he’d stick around for long, because he was seemingly the most incompetent and slow-learning person Tony had ever met. He’d messed up orders and sent out several plates far too long after they’d been requested, which meant they’d been serving _lukewarm_ meals. Tony wouldn’t dare send out a plate that had been sitting for more than a few minutes. He knew tonight’s service was sure to lead to an increase in the, previously scarce, negative reviews the restaurant had, and Tony didn’t even want to think about how the blame would probably be put on him, since he was supposed to be training the imbicile. It wasn’t Tony’s fault that he couldn’t read a damn order ticket.

When Tony got home that night, the thought of cooking was driving him crazy. He wanted nothing more than to kick his feet up, switch on the TV or grab a good book, and try to distract himself from the anxiety work was giving him. He’d never anticipated that working in the culinary arts would be so _stressful._

Tony _,_ as a man of fine taste with an appreciation for food preparation, was not fond of fast food, takeout, or delivery. Chain pizza delivery restaurants were the _worst,_ the box was always soaking with grease, and the crust tasted like rubber.  He didn’t even want to think about what they used to make that stuff.

But despite Tony’s utter hatred for cheap food, he couldn’t deny that at the moment, nothing sounded better than a greasy slice of pizza delivered right to his door. What could he say? It was comfort food.

When Tony placed an order for one pepperoni pizza on the Pizza Hut website, he hadn’t expected this whole situation to unfold in the way it had.

Not a half hour after he placed the order, there was a ring at his doorbell, and when Tony opened the door to accept his pizza, he found himself at a loss for words.

_Shit. He’s hot._

The pizza delivery boy was, admittedly, quite short of “perfect”. He had small traces of acne scattering his slightly rounded face, and his fluffy hair looked a bit hindered by the rain, but, _Christ,_ was he pretty.

He couldn’t have been out of high school yet, youth radiating from his awkward stance and crooked smile as he offered up the pizza.

Right. The pizza.

Tony took the box from the boy’s small hands and handed him twenty dollars.

He looked down at the money, confused.

“Uh, sir, that’s a really big tip for a twelve dollar pizza. I don’t- I don’t know if I can accept this?”  
  
Tony felt as though he might melt at the kid’s voice. It was high pitched, chasing the heels of puberty, and cracking nervously.

Tony waved him off, “just take it, kid. Least I could do for sending you out in the rain tonight,” he winked.

The boy’s cheeks flushed, and Tony wanted to pull him into his flat by the collar of his pizza delivery boy uniform and bend him over the kitchen table. Who needed pizza when the delivery boy looked _far_ more delicious?

“Thank you, mister-”  


“Stark,” Tony finished, holding his hand out to shake. The boy shifted on his feet awkwardly, evidently not used to this kind of behavior from a customer, before accepting the handshake.   


“You have a good night,” Tony glanced at the kid’s name tag, “…Peter.”  


  


From then on, Tony became far more fond of delivery pizza, to the point where he was ordering it every week. And if each time he ordered, he requested that they send “Peter”, that was simply because the boy was efficient. 

Each time, Tony greeted him by his first name. After a while, Peter began to greet him back.

“Hello again, Mr. Stark!” He’d chime eagerly.  


And each time, Tony had a more than generous tip prepared for the boy.

The deliveries became less of a hand-it-off-and-go exchange, and more of a full interaction. Tony would ask him how work had gone, and Peter would return the question. Tony had told Peter about the new kitchen staff and Peter had laughed as he made fun of the guy’s clumsiness. 

“I’m sure you’d be much better at taking orders,” Tony had said, quite aware of the implications, and watched the boy’s face turn bright pink.  


One time, Tony had asked Peter if he was in school, and Peter had sheepishly responded that he was a student at Midtown high school.

And sure, Tony was going to hell, but when you had a boy with curly hair and big brown eyes smiling in your doorway once a week, it felt worth it.

After a while, Tony decided to push things a bit further.

“What time do you get off work tonight, Peter?”  


“This is, um, actually my last delivery tonight.”  


Tony quirked up his eyebrow, “care to come in?”

Now, Peter had heard to not go into the houses of strangers, but Mr. Stark wasn’t really a _stranger,_ was he? He knew where he worked, how old he was, where he’d grown up, where he’d gone to college, what his favorite thing to cook was…

Peter accepted.

Tony had almost thought it was too good to be true as he watched Peter eat the pizza he’d delivered minutes ago across Tony’s very own kitchen table.

He’d reached out with his thumb to wipe at the boy’s plump bottom lip.

“Did I- Did I have something on my face?” Peter’s cheeks were on fire.  


Tony smirked, “No, dear.”

“So why did you-?”  


And then, dammit, Tony couldn’t keep playing this dodgy flirting game. He leaned in and he kissed Peter, right there in the middle of his kitchen.

And when the boy was a whining mess underneath him on that same kitchen table a half hour later, Tony accepted the consequences of his actions with open arms.

It was really quite worth it for a boy so _delicious_.

**Author's Note:**

> @downeyfordick on tumblr


End file.
